


Elocution

by Rednaelo



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Courtship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rednaelo/pseuds/Rednaelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the third attempt that Megatron has made to ascertain Soundwave’s response to his…intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elocution

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing my best to try and crank out one of these a week and though I'm a day behind, I think I'm still keeping pace pretty well! This is for an anonymous friend who wanted to see some hurt/comfort loveliness between Megatron and Soundwave. Dear friend, I hope you enjoy what you find and thank you very very much for your patience! I really appreciated the prompt you gave me and tried to include every detail that you specified. Hopefully it's a good read for you!
> 
> I had a fun time writing it! Thanks again for your help and let me know if there's ever something else you would like for me to write!
> 
> -Bec

There’s a crowd this time.  Which is turning out to be irritating.  Not that anyone among the crowd would ever know he is irritated – no one ever knows.  Soundwave curls spindly digits around Megatron’s personal datapad, which he left at his workstation. A few straggling vehicons haven’t realized that their prolonged staring is a poor choice; Soundwave turns his helm towards them in a slow pan and they startle back to their work, perhaps a bit harried.  One poor spark almost trips over himself attempting to casually excuse himself from the bridge.

So much for the subtle.

Soundwave returns to the datapad in-hand and swipes the screen to engage it.  This is Megatron’s; it was not left at Soundwave’s console mistakenly.  Soundwave easily dampens the feelings of exasperation that well up and focuses on the datapad’s contents.

An invitation this time.  At least it’s in text format and not an audio transmission.  Megatron might be becoming bolder with each subsequent gesture but at least he has the decency to not embarrass Soundwave in front of the crew.  Of course he wouldn’t.  He wants to succeed after all.  Primus only knows why.

An invitation.  Soundwave rereads it.  An invitation to share evening rations in Megatron’s quarters. Simple…innocuous.

Despite its inoffensive offer, Soundwave can clearly identify what this invitation is asking of him.  This is the third attempt that Megatron has made to ascertain Soundwave’s response to his…intentions.  The first was the outright declaration, which Soundwave admittedly discounted.  After all, there was no way that such an offer could be made sincerity.  Megatron is Megatron.  Soundwave is merely a shadow.  But then Megatron made the offer again in the form of a very detailed courtship contract which had been tailored down to the glyph with the reasons that Megatron had cast his optic on Soundwave for his partner until they were one in the Allspark.

Soundwave had been too stunned to respond.  Work had resumed over the days that he mulled it over.  The quiet and space had caused him to move past the conundrum; he had assumed that Megatron had lost interest. 

Apparently he has not.  Such an invitation indicates that now is the time for Soundwave to give his answer.

Soundwave turns off the datapad and stows it in his subspace.  He privately comms his reply to Megatron and returns to work without another thought towards the matter.

* * *

When Laserbeak disengages he is hesitant to leave Soundwave’s side.  Or be left, as it were.  He’s a keen youngling when it comes to all things and there is no sense more sharp than the understanding that connects creator to creation.  They are as one thought, Soundwave and his Laserbeak, as they have been since before they even knew of this planet, before there was even a war to fight. 

Laserbeak protests when Soundwave commands him to disengage from his chestplates in the moments before Soundwave is due in Megatron’s quarters.  Restless wings shift and flap and Soundwave reaches out in a soft stroke to calm his creation.  He can manage a soft croon with his vocalizer, one he had always used to appease Laserbeak, even before his audio-output systems were irreparably damaged.  The Pits were never kind; the medical treatment was sub-par before Soundwave found a sponsor who was interested enough to keep him in better condition.  Soundwave does not suffer Laserbeak to jump into his arms in an attempt to reattach to Soundwave. 

“Negative,” Soundwave insists with a playback of Knockout’s words.  Laserbeak screeches at him in protest.  “You’re being unreasonable,” Soundwave answers, still with Knockout’s voice.

He executes the command to retract his visor and when it folds away, he looks down at Laserbeak, optics soft and mouth set at a complacent and serene downturn.   Laserbeak leans into the proffered touch of Soundwave’s digits.

There’s a war within Soundwave and some days he wonders why he hasn’t taken any of the multiple opportunities given to reject Megatron’s advances.  At the same time, he understands perfectly why he hasn’t rebuffed his leader and it has nothing to do with fear of retribution and everything to do with the gorgeous cut of Megatron’s figure and the rumbling bass of his voice and the molten red of his optics and how they burn straight through….

Laserbeak chirps suddenly and Soundwave shakes his helm gently and turns aside to try and collect himself again.  Once he safely puts the fantasy aside, he bids Laserbeak to wait and rest while he’s away.  The visor folds back down and Soundwave makes his way through the hallways.

He moves slowly, each step deliberate and sedate.  There is no need to rush.  Not within the _Nemesis_.  For now, the ship is home, and he will not scurry down the corridors like a drone to his post.  This is an invitation for leisure.  Surely he can keep that in mind and reflect it with a leisurely pace.

“Soundwave.”

Soundwave angles his helm towards the voice and then turns to face Megatron approaching him from the perpendicular hallway.  He lifts a hand in a sweeping gesture – a salute, a show of obedience.  When Megatron’s mouth tips up just so at the corner, Soundwave stalls minutely behind his mask.  Nervousness flashes through him.

“Permit me to escort you,” Megatron says.  In the dark of the ship his eyes are bright as a crucible’s contents.  Soundwave assents by merely following where Megatron leads.  Such as it has always been.  Soundwave walks with his spinal strut tall and his steps soft, hands relaxed by his sides as he considers his suitor and once again experiences a dissonance at the idea of collating the concept of “suitor” being “Megatron.”  Megatron is “leader” and “almighty” and “fearsome” and “absolute.”  These things foremost, but then, he is also “magnificent” and “laudable” and, in no short terms, “desirable.”

Surely there’s intersection there, with all of these traits, where Megatron might be Suitor, well and truly.

Soundwave is a step to Megatron’s right and another step behind.  He focuses gently on where Megatron has folded his servos behind his back, talons silver-sharp and dulled with scratches.  A warrior’s hands.  A gladiator. 

What is this play they are engaged in, Soundwave suddenly asks himself, hesitating but for a split second midstep before continuing along.  They two, ex-arena slaves, in courtship.  And Soundwave is following right along! As if he is even remotely prepared to ultimately follow-through such a thing. 

Megatron wants to claim him: this is what courtship means.  The thought freezes Soundwave in his tracks and flings back the curtain on all of the buried memories of the arena.  Of wounds and defeats and crowds that had once cheered for him jeering and catcalling as he was claimed for sport by the mech who had managed to overcome him.

Megatron turns as soon as he realizes he is not being followed. 

“Something wrong?” his leader asks and Soundwave clenches his dentae behind his mask.

“I think you might have the wrong impression,” Starscream’s voice comes scoffing out of his pre-recorded files.  Soundwave can see the twitch the Second in Command’s recalled voice brings to Megatron’s features.  He continues, regardless.  “I don’t think I can do this,” Breakdown’s voice tells Megatron.

“What do you mean?” Megatron asks, browplates furrowing.  Not in anger.  Confusion, perhaps.  “Surely taking fuel with me isn’t such a burdensome task.”

“You want/more/from me/than that,” a mishmash of eradicons and vehicons.  Laughter from a thousand distant voices and the stinking, hot ventilations of a Pit slave pressing their body between Soundwave’s legs….

“I already made my intentions clear,” Megatron agrees, still not consoled.  Soundwave remains outwardly stalwart as ever and meets his lord’s gaze straight on.  “I declared my intent to court you and you have realized that this was not done in jest.  Of course I want more; that is the entire purpose of courting.”

“I can’t give you that,” Knockout snaps from Soundwave’s voxcoder.  The emphasis is on the wrong word, but it’s the words themselves that matter.  Megatron has not said anything yet.  He peers at Soundwave with studious focus, as if he wishes to pull back the mask and see for himself what could be hiding. 

Soundwave can see plain for himself the moment Megatron understands what is really being said: it is an illumination in that purposed and probing gaze.

“Were you under the impression that tonight’s invitation was a thinly-veiled excuse to pry at your panels?” Megatron asks, the vulgarities somehow appropriate on his tongue.  He talks like he’s still living on the streets. 

“Isn’t it?” Starscream’s voice sneers.  Soundwave lifts his chin up and squares his shoulders.

“I fought in those Pits as well, Soundwave,” Megatron continues, turning his back to him before continuing along.  “I can understand your trepidation but, please, spare me the insult.” 

He might or might not be expecting Soundwave to follow him at this point.  Behind his visor, Soundwave is tracing every line and angle of Megatron’s chassis, noting how his plating hasn’t had a buffing or polish in quite a while.  There’s a welding scar still healing along his side.  Soundwave takes a few long strides to catch up with Megatron and then hands back the datapad that was left on his workstation.  Megatron glances down and then takes it.

“Thank you,” he says and tucks the datapad away.

“I trust you,” Soundwave says.  The voice, strangely enough, is Optimus Prime’s.  Megatron raises a browplate at him.

“How did you come about procuring that particular recording?”

“I am/everywhere,” Soundwave answers in Megatron’s own words.  And when Megatron laughs it is deep and rich, behind a smile that is more than just a glint in the low lighting.

* * *

Megatron puts the cube of energon into Soundwave’s servos and then sits opposite him at the small table in his berthroom.  Soundwave has been here before.  There was a comfort in knowing how there was no ostentatious differences between Megatron’s quarters and those of the other ranking crewmembers.  Perhaps this one was a bit larger, but that was only sensible, seeing as how Megatron was helm and pauldrons above every other mech onboard.  His energon was the same grade as everyone else’s.  Soundwave knows this but has yet to actually taste it for himself.  That would involve retracting his mask.

His digits cradle the cube and he looks down into it, convincing himself that he already took Megatron up on this offer knowing that he’d have to show his own face.  Megatron is watching him, optics like hands reaching out to steady on Soundwave’s frame.  It’s alarmingly intimate, how his lord watches him and Soundwave – who is always the watcher, the knower – is growing hot under his plating.  Not exactly pleasantly either.  Despite Megatron’s assurances, Soundwave can match the intensity of that gaze with another, more uncouth longing. 

Soundwave puts the cube down on the table, not even bothering to try.

“Answer me this, Soundwave,” Megatron says.  His voice is gentle but still projects with full enunciation and resonance.  Soundwave faces him, watching as dutifully as ever.  “Given your apparent unease with the situation—which I’m beginning to realize extends to the courtship at large—why have you not simply refused me?”

Soundwave tilts his helm just so.  Megatron is frowning.  It’s not anything new; he frowns when his faceplates are at rest, it’s a default.  But this frown is upset.  Displeased, but not with Soundwave.  Megatron’s hands are folded in his lap and there is an energy in his field that is plainly unhappiness.  Soundwave sips at it with his empathetic processors and swirls the data around curiously.  Megatron’s sadness….  A rare and potent thing.  Soundwave marks his findings and stores them for further analysis, while internally, his spark spins with something akin to a building, manic excitement.  He reaches his own field out from its deliberately tight coil and steals more tastes of his lord’s, bringing the sadness in close and letting it hurt just as deeply.  When Megatron blinks in surprise, Soundwave knows he’s being read just as plainly and he observes as his lord picks along the knot of confusion and longing and fear and pride that has been tangling within Soundwave since the get-go.

“Please excuse me for taking up your time,” Soundwave echoes a recording of Dreadwing and Megatron is only halfway focused on the words.  Still rather entranced with the puzzle he’s been handed.  Soundwave quietly – amusedly – wishes him luck with it.  There isn’t any solution he’s yet to find.  “My/lack of commitment/is an insult.”

“Lack of…?” Megatron’s optics haze and brighten as he slips between foci.  “Lack of commitment….  But not lack of interest.”

Soundwave turns his helm aside but dips his chin nonetheless. It would be no use denying it; Megatron has the evidence plain for himself.  Soundwave’s spark keeps throbbing from the tumultuous feedback he’s picking up from Megatron’s field.   This is precisely the reason he keeps his own reeled in closely.  His empathetic ability has always flummoxed him so.  It’s worse with his Lord more or less fiddling his fingers through Soundwave’s field.  Soundwave flicks away the prompt asking to engage his cooling fans.

“If I’m understanding correctly, you didn’t deny my intentions because you were genuinely pleased by it,” Megatron begins—Soundwave’s faceplates run hot and pink beneath his visor and he tightens his folded fingers together—“but you are having misgivings with what you feel you are expected to give in return.”

“Affirmative.”  An old recording….  Soundwave’s own words, own voice, before his vocalizer had been torn out in the arena.  Megatron recognizes it and the surge of unbridled affection through his field is enough to make Soundwave’s spark strobe.  His vents flare open.

“Courtship practices weren’t something we of the Pits were properly familiar with,” Megatron says and very gently retracts his field from Soundwave’s, letting him withdraw with what dignity he still has.  Soundwave composes himself again and faces his leader to show his attention.  “With the abilities and resources we have at our disposal now, the concept is less of a mystery.  Still, we were groomed for battle, not sharing ourselves with one another.”  Megatron pulls his shoulders back minutely, spinal strut straightening, chin raised.  “There is no set time for how long courtship should last.  I am still willing and wanting to follow through with it.  If you accept me, then understand that there is nothing you owe me.  All I ask is to spend time with you so that you might know me as your suitor rather than just your leader.”

Soundwave remains as silent and unruffled as ever.  With his field snug around his spark the illusion is easy to maintain.  Gently, he lifts a hand and reaches it across the table, palm up, digits open.  Megatron is smiling when he takes it.  And then he blinks.

“You’re running extraordinarily hot,” the leader of the Decepticons notes with murmur and a small hint of concern.  His field is extending with inquiry.  Soundwave pulls out one single thread of his own field to let Megatron wrap around his fingers and it’s the simple fact that he’s never been so enamored in all of his life.  While Megatron is marveling at what truth he’s been given, Soundwave swallows hard and executes the command to fold back his visor.  He blinks his optics slowly and Megatron holds his gaze with the kind of attention that a soldier gives to the charge he guards.  Not invasive, not demanding or gawking.  Megatron is honored.

Soundwave wishes in this moment that he could speak.  He doesn’t want to use another’s words even though he is sure he wouldn’t be begrudged for doing so.  He covers Megatron’s hand with his other, gripping it dearly.  He lets his field unravel into Megatron’s which has been dutifully waiting for him all this while.  And, without words, he invites Megatron to continue his pursuit.

* * *

 Megatron is kneeling.  It’s more surreal than Soundwave is comfortable with but he keeps recalibrating his optical feeds and, yes, there Megatron is, kneeling at his feet, patient.  Soundwave massages the polishing cloth into his lord and suitor’s scuffed digits, making the silver plates shine as they hadn’t in decades.  It’s…comfortable.  He’s servicing Megatron but Megatron himself is subservient here, docile as Soundwave attends to him gently. 

“You don’t mind this?” Megatron asks him in only a murmur as Soundwave rubs attentively at a small scratch.

“Mnn,” Soundwave manages with his own vocalizer.  He shakes his helm to help clarify his vague grunting.  He’s avoided using his vocalizer for so long, letting the crew spread their own rumors about why.  In all honesty, the sounds are ugly now.  But he was told….  Megatron said that he was happy to hear Soundwave’s voice.  Even if it was wordless.  Soundwave couldn’t help but indulge him.  He lets his field flow out to further illustrate how comfortable he feels, sharing this expression of physicality between them.    Megatron’s optics are so deep and soft.  He hums, pleased, and blinks slowly.

“It is rather intimate, isn’t it,” he says to Soundwave.

Soundwave touches his fingertips to Megatron’s wrist and gives his suitor a small smile.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Megatron says.  Not a reminder, it’s more like he’s reveling in the fact that Soundwave did it anyway.  His delight is obvious, even if it’s not exuberant.  Soundwave is glad of it. 

“And you did not/have to/kneel,” he speaks in the voices of the _Nemesis’_ crew.

“I wanted to,” Megatron says.  “It put you at ease.”

Soundwave’s attending hands are vacated as Megatron withdraws them.  Instead, he reaches towards Soundwave’s face – slow and deliberate – and cups his jaw, newly-polished thumbs stroking against the spymaster’s flushed cheeks.  Every throb of Soundwave’s spark echoes through the room.  He can see how it slowly strobes in Megatron’s eyes, the red of them flashing a bit brighter with every pulse from Soundwave’s field.  It’s the only way he can really communicate how flustered and eager his lord makes him.

“Can I thank you with a kiss?” Megatron asks.

Soundwave wonders if it’s even possible for his spark to burst.  His fans are already clicking on; he hadn’t bothered to shunt away the request this time.  Megatron doesn’t tease him but there’s a depth to how intensely he seeks after Soundwave’s focus.  He’ll have his answer even if Soundwave doesn’t have the words to give him for it.  Megatron watches his intended’s mouth, following the tracing flick of his glossa to wet his lips.  A jet engine roars with arousal.  Soundwave shivers and finds himself leaning forward, lips parting. 

Megatron’s gentle hands guide them together.  Soundwave’s gimped vocalizer produces the most pitiful of moans when his lord’s tongue slides out to taste where Soundwave had traced but seconds before.  But that’s the end of it.  Then it is just their lips, pressed dearly together and their breaths as one.

Soundwave’s hands reach.  They catch Megatron’s elbows and tug earnestly, drawing him upwards until Megatron presses to his feet without any further encouragement.  Soundwave stands with him and their kiss breaks only to return with a renewed desperation.  This is suddenly more than a thank you.  Soundwave realizes he was the one who pushed for it to be more. 

Waves of trembling wrack his frame and he clings to Megatron to quell them.  Strong arms embrace him close.  Hot, hungry kisses rattle him even more.  Interface protocols are firing to life and Soundwave dazedly realizes that he’s not denying any of them.  There’s lubricant seeping out of the seams of his interface panel. It feels sickly…too hot, reminiscent of nights struggling to his pedes and shamefully pushing his interface panel closed while still stuffed full of transfluid.  Bow to the crowd…they paid for a show.  Clean yourself up where no one has to watch; that’s not what they came here to see.

 Soundwave gasps at the feeling and into Megatron’s open mouth.  The sudden plunge in his enthusiasm doesn’t go unnoticed and Megatron takes a very purposeful step back.  His hands stay calmly clutched on Soundwave’s shoulders.

“Too much,” Megatron says for Soundwave and Soundwave blinks a few times, panting hard, and tries to center himself.  This is the _Nemesis_.  This is not a place where he will be struck down and taken advantage of.  Megatron has already made that promise.  He’s allowed to want this for himself. 

He’s allowed to be claimed at his own pleasure.

Soundwave scrunches his optics shut and shakes his helm, trying to rid himself of the cold pit of fear and dread that is rapidly draining all of his joy away. 

“Can’t,” Soundwave’s voxcoder croaks.  A recording of a dying opponent from long, long ago.  He slumps forward into the empty space between him and his suitor.  There’s a boundary there, between them, and Soundwave is glad of it and at the same time wants to rail against it. 

Megatron’s hands have not left him, though.  They still brace Soundwave’s shoulders as loyally as ever, though Megatron himself has not said a word since.  Soundwave opens his optics again and finds his suitor watching him, some solution formulating behind the concern of that gaze.

“I did not misread your signals?” Megatron asks. 

“Mnn,” Soundwave croaks out, shaking his helm again as an expression of distraught frustration furrows his faceplates.  It’s absurd: how desire overtook him so completely and then turned right around to stake him through.  Megatron’s field is soothing over Soundwave, running along the static of his anxiety and mending the places where old terrors have risen up to rip holes into Soundwave’s comfort.  Soundwave surrenders himself to it.  Not without difficulty, but when he lets his guard go slack, Megatron is rushing in to build him a new one that he doesn’t have to bear on his own.  Another kiss meets Soundwave’s cheek and Megatron slowly strokes his fingers down Soundwave’s arms. 

“Take me.”

Soundwave’s helm jerks up and he finds Megatron staring deeply into him as ever, optics alight with desire.

“Will you?” Megatron asks.  “If you can’t, that is acceptable, of course.  I can feel your fear still, the fear of being overcome.  If you cannot lie beneath me then I will lie beneath you and we will take our pleasure together at your control.”

Soundwave resets his optics a few times; his visual feed doing weird color-blooms in certain spots. 

“O-Oh….”  Soundwave was barely even aware he could make such a noise with his own voice.  Suddenly the pit inside is filling with something molten.  Megatron’s look of concern is twisting into something wicked with excitement.  His polished fingers clutch Soundwave’s digits and tug just so.

“Tell me, does it arouse you?” Megatron asks as he takes a step back towards the berth.  Soundwave follows, now returning the piercing intensity that Megatron has been giving him the whole while.  “Have you never entertained the thought before?”

Of course he hasn’t.  How could he?  Even after Megatron had made his declaration towards Soundwave, how could Soundwave picture himself in a position of dominance over the mech he had sworn life and loyalty to serve?  The reversal is too jarring.  Megatron crawls back onto the berth, pleasure glinting in his optics, his smile.  Soundwave puts a knee on the berth; Megatron spreads his legs invitingly.

“I have considered it before,” Megatron purrs at him.  Soundwave’s cooling fans roar so suddenly that one of them gutters in a short-out before restarting again.  “Visualized it on my own time....”

But….

Soundwave halts halfway onto the berth, hands gripping Megatron’s knees with the intention of doing…something.  But….

There is silence…studious stillness.  Megatron’s smirk slowly melts into a confused frown.  Soundwave’s focus flickers from point to point on his lord’s body.  He is sublimely magnificent.  Soundwave, now given the opportunity to consider the situation, finds there are a whole host of desires that he could put into action.  But upon consideration, none of them seem like the right step to take.

Soundwave is not anyone’s lover.  He has never been.  Only ever a prize, unwillingly given.  Faced with the gorgeous spread of his suitor’s chassis, he has never felt such desire and never been so completely unprepared.

“You must,” Soundwave plays a recording, “guide me.”  He looks up from his complete sweep of Megatron’s body and locks optics with him to see if his stipulation will be agreed to.

Megatron himself has gone back to smiling.  He relaxes, lying on his back instead of propping himself up.  His hands slide upwards and stretch above his helm.

“I shall,” Megatron purrs, “with pleasure.”

Soundwave crawls forward until he hovers over Megatron, gazing down to where that cruel and beautiful smile lingers.  He needs no direction for this.  Even as his spark trips over itself with self-conscious fears and what-ifs of causing injury or displeasure to his own devoted suitor, he can kiss him without any trouble.  Again and again and again, bare faced with his lips wrapping around a teasing tongue and the hot wetness of a moan pushed into his mouth.  He swallows it down and dives for more.  Another…another!  Soundwave straddles Megatron’s waist and pushes his searing-hot pelvic plating downwards, a shocked gasp rushing out against Megatron’s lips when Soundwave himself is caught off guard by how exquisite it feels.  Too good, unlike anything…. 

Megatron laughs, delighted and impassioned against Soundwave’s panting lips and tilts his hips upwards to give Soundwave more pressure to rut against.  Impulse is shredding through Soundwave’s processor.  He feels wild and like he is merely a coil of energy with no direction.  He reins himself in.  His field flexes out and then he gently tugs it back into a smooth circle.  Beneath him, Megatron is purring with approval. 

“Touch me,” he directs, his chestplates swelling outwards with a deliberate vent.  Soundwave watches, ravenous, his lips parted and wet and Megatron is just as raptly focused on the beauty above him.  “As you like.  Take your time.”

Soundwave kneels up, his weight settling only lightly on Megatron’s hips.  Their plating ticks, heating rapidly as they press together.  Megatron remains still save for when he presses against Soundwave’s curious hands skimming and stroking where they may.  Between seams, plucking softly at the cabling beneath, searching out the spots where Soundwave himself would enjoy being touched – along his neck, his chest, the juncture between waist and hip – and learning where they share similarities. 

“Good,” Megatron rumbles all the while. “That’s excellent; more; keep going.”  When Soundwave cautiously engages the thick datacables from his back and they come curling out, claws open and turning in a question of permission, Megatron’s field snaps hot with interest.  Soundwave shudders on top of him and doesn’t bother to stay his hips when they jerk forward.

“Use them,” Megatron commands him, hungry.  “Do as you like.”  His optics are white-hot with excitement.  Soundwave reaches to Megatron’s helm and strokes both hands down his neck, backing off from his seat so he can crawl between Megatron’s legs again.  The two tentacles clasp at Megatron’s wrists – gently, always – and push them to the berth, slowly enough to give time for Megatron to deny him.  But he doesn’t.  He moans and lets himself be guided and his chest arches up as his fingers scrape appreciatively at the claws.

Soundwave retracts his interface panel, the splatter of lubricants making him cringe and Megatron groan.  Megatron’s own panel snaps back in answer.   Strangely, his spike doesn’t pressurize in the slightest.  Soundwave’s hands work their way down his lord’s chassis and come to rest on his hips, sliding thin digits between armor plates to coax more of those low, keening noises out.  Soundwave is dizzily drunk on them.  He could listen for ages.

Megatron’s valve lips are wet and swollen, making a beautiful and erotic image in the room’s low lighting.  Soundwave’s spark thrashes hard in his chest at the sight and he greedily tracks the path of a pearlescent drop of lubricant as it leaks from the darker, hotter spaces of Megatron’s valve. 

“I want to feel your spike,” Megatron growls.  He pushes his hips up just so, deliberately enticing Soundwave.   His hands grip Soundwave’s datacables in desperation and he groans in a bass harmony to Soundwave’s moan as the spymaster’s spike pressurizes. Soundwave pushes one knee forward and bring his hips closer to Megatron’s pelvic array.  His spike nestles between the hot, wet lips of Megatron’s valve, fluid leaking down the length to bead on the nub of Megatron’s external node.  Megatron himself licks at his lips, panting as his hips arch up just so, encouraging the bit of friction between them.   His hands clench and wring at Soundwave’s tentacles.

Soundwave’s slender digits tighten on the curve of Megatron’s hips and he anchors himself to keep from just rutting himself into a mess and making a fool of himself.  He closes his optics.  Makes himself reassess.  He doesn’t feel half as nervous as he was before.  The fear is only a lingering trickle at the back of his processor, just a tag reminding him that what he experienced then is worlds away from what he has now.  With that, he tugs his datacables away from Megatron’s hands and shifts them until they have snuck beneath Megatron’s body, bracing him upwards so that their chests are gently pressed together.  Megatron’s hands go straight to Soundwave’s hips and tug him closer.

“You won’t hurt me,” Megatron tells him, a rough, lusty whisper in Soundwave’s audial.  He feels like he’s shaking apart and Megatron’s hold on his waist is the only thing keeping his pieces from rattling to the floor.  “Let me pleasure you.”

Soundwave pushes his forehead against Megatron’s, optics squeezed shut, mouth open, breath steaming hot at every exhale.  Megatron licks between his lips and Soundwave whimpers, hips jolting against Megatron’s in a wet slide.  Their fields are tangled together so messily, all spiraled around each other, knotting in places where they don’t want to let go, undulating and throbbing.  Soundwave is moaning, broken and staticked, his inept vocalizer trying its hardest to convey just how deeply Megatron is affecting him, how all of this is adding up to be more than he ever expected or could hope for.  How he still feels helpless but this time around, he has arms around him and kisses raining down upon his bared face.

“Mmmm!” he presses out, insistent, and Megatron understands, guiding Soundwave’s hips himself, pulling him close as Soundwave’s spike is slowly enveloped by the most unbelievable heat.  His helm tips backwards, mouth drinking down the cooler air before he slumps forward again.  Megatron hisses a long, impassioned affirmation against Soundwave’s audial, chasing it with eager lips and teeth.  The teasing touches from his mouth are making Soundwave lose his grip.  He tightens all the more; calipers ripple deliberately around his spike and Soundwave’s voice cracks terribly from the awful excuse for a moan that he tried to yell out. 

Megatron’s hips rock with what little leeway they have.  Soundwave’s tentacles buoy him and spring back with every motion.  Sharp silver claws are strong on his hips and Soundwave keeps his optics dim as he picks up the rhythm set for him.  He can follow that easy, keep the time, synchronize the way his spark is pulsing with the one only two plates of armor away.  He’ll bond to that spark one day…he’s given his promise he would.  But right now it is his body that is all wrapped up in Megatron’s, his field that is running back and forth between him and Megatron, folding over the sensations on themselves, shorting out his processor.

How can he tell Megatron that he doesn’t have the fortitude to keep this up much longer?  His fingers pry beneath Megatron’s chest plates and he tugs, just as his hips thrust forward as if Soundwave had barely any control over them.  His gimped vocalizer wheedles out a truly pitiful skreep of helplessness and Megatron sighs hot against his neck.

“We have all night,” Megatron moans, breathless.  “I’ll take you all night.  As many times as you like.”

Soundwave’s mouth opens wide to let out a scream and then he clamps his dentae on the cables of Megatron’s neck to keep himself from exposing Megatron’s audial to another gross noise.  His whole chassis rumbles with the vibration of his outcry; Soundwave’s hips twitch and he buries his spike deep into Megatron’s valve and  overloads.

Soundwave doesn’t let himself rest.  He pulls out and pulls Megatron away from himself before any protest can be voiced.  Still shaking, knees knocked together, he pushes a trembling hand against Megatron’s shoulder and then ducks between Megatron’s still-spread legs.  He doesn’t even get a glimpse of Megatron’s puzzled expression in the seconds that it all happens.  It’s easy to hear him, though, when Soundwave wraps his lips around Megatron’s external node and laps at it ravenously.

“Mnnghh!” Megatron grunts, his hips pushing up into Soundwave’s face.  Soundwave pushes those unruly hips down into the berth with his datacables and uses his unsteady fingers to spread the lips of Megatron’s valve and lick the mess of fluids inside.  Megatron’s hands spasm at his sides before he clenches them into tight fists, refusing to cling so hard to Soundwave and Soundwave knows why.  He licks and lathes his glossa over the hot folds of wet mesh and takes back one of his tentacles to curl it behind himself and push the blunted claws against his own valve.  It’s wet, he’s open, he feels the heat and pressure of it against the delicate and long untouched places of his body as he cleans up the mess he made inside Megatron, soothing over his lord’s external node with sweet lips and tongue. 

“Soundwave,” Megatron huffs out, strained and at the edge of losing himself.  Soundwave hears him, feels the way Megatron’s calipers are clamping down around his glossa as it teases up inside of his valve.  He lets his impulses, fired by adrenaline and another rapidly-building overload, rattle around his databanks and pull together soundbytes, meshing and adjusting them with internal processes.  And when he finishes, he sits himself upwards, his own datacable pushing into his valve, fingers reaching into Megatron’s valve to massage his ceiling node while his thumb rubs at the external node.  Megatron marvels up at him, optics dizzyingly alight.  Soundwave’s wet lips part and he mouths along with his doctored recording, the words coming out sounding exactly like the voice he lost centuries ago.

“My Lord Megatron….”

Megatron snatches Soundwave’s free hand and squeezes hard as he rides out his overload, his whole body jerking and shaking.  Soundwave catches the empathetic feedback from his field and it catapults him right over into his own overload.  He hunches over moaning into Megatron’s mouth while his tentacle pushes only shallowly into his valve.  It’s enough.  It’s enough to feel good and for Megatron to kiss him through it. 

The delight settles.  Soundwave pulls himself from every orifice he has invaded and falls to Megatron’s side.  His mask folds down and he pushes his interface panel shut – he flinches when a hard twinge in his valve catches him off guard – and a coldness seeps in to where there was only heat and comfort before.  It’s not like those other times.  It’s definitely different.  Not scary or humiliating or anything that Soundwave will regret later.  Maybe it’s just the stigma he’ll have to live with.  Soundwave vents slowly and pulls his field from the braided knots where he and Megatron were connected, spooling himself back into a tight coil.

And then warm arms are around him.  Megatron sits up and pulls Soundwave into his lap and embraces him dearly.  Not caging…only a frame to steady himself on.  Soundwave swallows and retracts his mask again to look into Megatron’s optics.

“My Lord?” he asks, Dreadwing’s voice.  It’s the right inflection – interrogative, for Soundwave is unsure.  Caught off guard.

“I have you,” Megatron says simply.  Not in a way a predator claims his conquest.  But how an ally protects his comrade’s blindside.  “Rest here with me.  Do you need energon?”

The words, their sincerity, how Megatron is still trying to regain himself – shoulders heaving with labored breaths – but his optics are deep with intention to act if needed….

A startled laugh escapes Soundwave and breaks into a quiet grin.

Here is the difference: he is safe here. 

Soundwave leans in and kisses his suitor before wrapping his arms around him and allowing himself to be pulled close.

“My Lord Megatron,” he repeats, the murmur low and happy.  When Megatron’s engine purrs with deeply sated pleasure, Soundwave kisses him again.


End file.
